


Getting There

by pulangaraw



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Getting Together, M/M, Tattoos, partly episode related
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-31
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2019-03-12 00:03:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 4,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13535388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pulangaraw/pseuds/pulangaraw
Summary: There's more to Detevtive Sergeant James Hathaway than just sharp suits. Robbie is determined to work out who the real James is.





	1. You for me?

**Author's Note:**

> After wandering into ‘Lewis’ by way of ‘Endeavour’, I have spent the last few weeks inhaling as much Lewis/Hathaway fic as I can possibly squeeze into my life. Then I went and got some new tattoos done and while they were itchily healing, I suddenly knew exactly what fic I wanted to write. So this is said fic. It’s for everyone in the Lewis fandom; you all have brightened my life considerably. 
> 
> This story meanders alongside their cases for the first half and then kinda moves off-canon and ends wherever you’d like it to end inside or outside of the show’s timeline. 
> 
> James Hathaway’s tattoos are nothing like Laurence Fox’s, even though I think some of them are really quite nice. ;)

The first time Robbie lays eyes on Detective Sergeant James Hathaway at the airport, the thing he notices most - beside the ridiculous ‘Lewis’ sign - is the suit. The perfectly pressed, perfectly tailored, perfectly colour-coordinated suit. At first glance, there doesn’t seem to be much more inside the suit than a snobbish, smart-arsed, public-school-over-educated young man. 

Then Sergeant Hathaway drives him to the cemetery without asking any too-personal questions and patiently waits until he is done saying hello to Val, even though he is clearly worried about getting him to his boss on time. 

_Then_ Hathaway asks for Robbie to be his new governor. 

And Robbie starts to wonder if there is more underneath that suit than he’d first imagined. 

\----

After a few months of working with James Hathaway, Robbie is convinced that there is _much_ more underneath the suits than meets the eye, but getting so much as a glimpse of what exactly this ‘more’ is proves to be an almost impossible endeavour. 

Oh, there’s no question that his Sergeant is smart; not just well-educated smart, but blessed with a real intelligence and a thirst for learning. And yes, there’s that rather dry sense of humor too, which Robbie starts to enjoy more and more as time goes by. And, of course, there’s his seminary history and his ‘bit of rowing’ and his medieval madrigal guitar music. 

But all that adds up to very little in the end, when it comes to the question of who James Hathaway really is when he takes off the Detective Sergeant suit in the privacy of his own home. 

And sometimes, in the privacy of _his_ own, lonely, silent flat, Robbie’s fingertips itch from the urge to peel that suit off Hathaway and take a good long look at what lies beneath.


	2. You saved me

They’re two years into their partnership before Robbie gets more than just a glimpse of the real James Hathaway and what he sees worries him. 

No, it’s not his anger at Hathaway lying to him that really has him rattled; everyone lies to protect themselves, especially if they’re ashamed of the truth. It’s also not the unanswered question about Hathaways sexual orientation - Robbie couldn’t care less about that. 

No, it’s the knowledge that James Hathaway had been so lonely and maybe so unsure of himself, that he’d fallen for the trap Zoe Kenneth had set for him, had almost followed her back into the burning building, _had almost died_ , before Robbie could see the real James. 

And Robbie is determined to see.

As he walks away from the JR, leaving Hathaway to rest, Robbie revisits the image of him in the hospital bed, his bare arms resting over the thin sheet, a half-hidden, hard-to-read smile on his lips when he’d said the words ‘ _you saved me_ ’. 

It had been the first time Robbie had seen Hathaway’s bare arms… above the elbow any road. In retrospect it seemed almost indecent to have seen him like that, without the suit covering every inch of his skin below the neck. 

Even earlier, in slightly rumpled cargo pants and t-shirts, Hathaway hadn’t seemed any less enigmatic than in his usual work attire. Those clothes had been just as much a mask, an armor, as the suits were; and the real James Hathaway had been just as well hidden beneath them.

But in the hospital bed, pale arms on even paler sheets and his eyelids heavy, that had been the real James. For a few short minutes he’d seen the real James, the James Robbie wanted to know more about. It wasn’t enough, not by a long shot, but it was more than he’d had in the two years before. 

Well, he’d just have to keep looking and maybe, one day, he’d get lucky and get more than just bare arms, a small smile and a few minutes.


	3. Behind you

It takes another year and Hathaway taking a dip in a pool of shit and spinning blades for Robbie to get a glimpse of more real James in the form of black ink on a pale shoulder. 

His own wrist is hurting something bad now that they’re back at the house waiting for the paramedics and their fellow officers and the adrenaline is fading. Hathaway has excused himself and gone next door to change out of his stinking and wet clothes, borrowing something halfway fitting from one of the old guys. 

He’s been gone about five minutes when Robbie can’t ignore the impulse to check on him any longer. It’s been becoming more and more frequent, this urge to see Hathaway, to be close to him, to watch him and to make sure he’s okay. It’s not so much about figuring him out anymore as it is about trying to take care of him. 

It took a long time for Robbie to even become aware of this, so slowly and gradually had his feelings developed. And once he had noticed them he’d spent even more months to try and deny their existence. And eventually, when they wouldn’t go away, he’d resigned himself to at least hide them from his sergeant and anyone else around them with too sharp eyes and too much detective training. It isn’t easy and it isn’t really fair, not on him and not on Hathaway, but it’s the best he can do. He’s no business burdening his sergeant with feelings as well as work and he’s mostly sure it’s unlikely to be welcome in any case.

At least he’s successful at it. Most days anyway.

He’s just poking his head around the door as Hathaway is slipping a dark blue, silk button down over his shoulders, his back to the door. It’s no more than a second he gets to see them - blink and you’ll miss it - but he does see them. Intricate black lines cover James’ back, forming an image that he has no time to even try to figure out. All he has time for is to register their existence before they are being covered by silk so dark it’s almost black. 

He must have made a sound because Hathaway turns half around, fastening the buttons and when he sees Robbie he raises an inquisitive eyebrow. 

“Everything all right, sir?”

Robbie clears his throat, “Yeah, fine. Just making sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine, sir, thank you.” His gaze slips down to Robbies left wrist cradled gently against his chest. 

His voice is quiet, worried, when he asks, “How are you?”

Robbie waves the worry away with his uninjured hand. “Nothing that time won’t heal.”

Before they can say much else the sirens of approaching police vehicles sound through the calm of the house. 

“Duty calls,” Robbie says and just like that the mask of Detective Sergeant slips back over Hathaways body, borrowed blue silk shirt and all.


	4. A life spent picking through other people’s misery

In retrospect, everything about Crevecoeur sucks. It’s big, old house, it’s lying, scheming occupants, it’s disgusting, abusive master... 

And most of all the effect it has on them. 

Something had shifted between him and James after the old rocker case. Their relationship has moved beyond a simple inspector/bagman working relationship and Robbie would say that they’ve slowly become friends. 

They’ve spent a number of evenings in each others flats, drinking beer, watching telly or shooting the breeze - as the young ones call it, and it’s been nice. Very nice. Robbie hasn’t had a chance to see more of James’ skin in all that, but that’s okay. It can wait. He’s been patient so far and he can be patient still. 

He’s been allowed glimpses of the real James during their evenings together and it feels as if they’re slowly working their way towards something significant. That’s worth more in Robbie’s book than James stripping naked in front of him at this point would have been. (And the fact that an image of dark blue silk sliding over pale skin and black ink now features more often than not in Robbie’s more vivid dreams is not something worth looking into too much. Yet.)

They’ve become close enough that Robbie accompanied James to court for his testimony on the Zelinski case. He’d been all prepared to be a shoulder to lean on that evening, knowing full well the effect reliving the girl’s discovery would have on James. 

But then Crevecoeur happened and everything has gone sideways.

Instead of being a stable shoulder and a friend, Robbie has driven a wedge between them, effectively setting their relationship back to a point before… well, pretty much to before even their first case together. Damn it. 

He can feel the hurt and disappointment radiating off Hathaway as he walks away over the perfectly manicured lawn, but he’s too angry, too afraid to lose him, to be able to do something about it right now. 

\------

The guilty people are in custody and the estate is being looked over by SOCO and their role in this is almost over, despite the reports still waiting to be written. Detective Sergeant Hathaway is standing by the lake, his suit perfectly in place, despite the injured arm; the real James hidden safely away. 

It’s Robbie’s job to try and get him back out. To apologies for the hurt he caused and mend their still tentative bond. He tries his best. 

“Obviously,” Sergeant Hathaway says and then the mask slips just a little and James smiles, looks at Robbie from the corner of his eye. 

‘ _There you are_ ’, Robbie wants to say, ‘ _thank god I didn’t lose you._ ’ But now is neither the place nor the time and so he just stands there and looks out over the lawn and lets himself relax a little.


	5. I hope you don’t mind me taking the liberty

Later he takes James home. 

James doesn’t stop him when Robbie comes into his flat after him, just raises a questioning eyebrow once he’s toed off his shoes. 

Robbie gestures to the arm in the sling. “You’re gonna need help getting out of your clothes with that.”

James swallows. Robbie can almost hear the arguments flitting through James’ brain. No doubt they’re very logical. But in the end, James just nods and leads the way into his bedroom. 

Robbie gently takes the suit jacket off James’ shoulders while James starts on his shirt buttons. 

Robbie turns to drape the jacket over the end of the bed and uses the moment to pull himself together. His hands are shaking slightly, his breath wants to speed up and this is ridiculous. 

This is just James, his friend James. James, who’s trusting his friend Robbie to help him getting undressed without having any… non-friendly thoughts. Robbie can do this. 

When Robbie turns back around, James has pushed his shirt off his shoulders and is struggling to pull his arms out of the sleeves. 

“Do you mind?” he asks hesitantly.

“Give it here,” Robbie says and reaches out to undo the buttons and pull the shirt off over James’ hands. 

“Thanks,” James says once he’s done. He looks at Robbie intently for a moment, then decisively turns around to open the wardrobe and look for something more comfortable to wear. 

Robbie stares. 

James’ back is covered from his shoulders down to below his belt in tattoos. It’s all in black and grey, no other colours. Intricate black lines and subtly shaded areas all coalesce to form an intriguing image that’s hard to decipher. 

No wonder James has never taken his clothes off where anyone could see. 

“It’s a stylised version of Saint George slaying the dragon,” James explains quietly as he turns back around and sees were Robbie was looking. 

Robbie nods, caught up in his desire to look again, more, longer…

“Would you like me to turn back around, sir?” James asks. Robbie drags his eyes up to James’ face and there’s amusement in the corners of his mouth. 

Robbie swallows. “If you don’t mind?”

James obligingly turns back around. 

Robbie looks some more. Now that he knows what it is, he can recognise it. The bold, curved, dark lines of the dragon. The corresponding opposition of light areas that form Saint George on his white horse. 

He wants to reach out and touch, but he doesn’t dare. There’s something written at the bottom of the tattoo, half obscured by the waist of James’ trousers. Robbie doesn’t dare ask about that either. 

“It’s gorgeous,” Robbie says eventually, his voice sounding hoarse to his own ears.

James turns back around. 

“I would have expected you to disapprove of tattoos,” James says, making it sound like a question. 

Robbie shrugs. “Wouldn’t choose to get one meself, but it’s not me place to judge what you do with your own body.”

He’s blushing furiously when he finishes his sentence. Surely James notices. 

James is being kind, though, and doesn’t comment further. Instead he holds a t-shirt out to him. “Give me a hand?”

Robbie does.

\-----

Saint George and the dragon… 

Robbie doesn’t know much about the story details, so once he gets home, he digs out his laptop and goes on a Google spree. Only, at the end of it, he’s not much clearer than he was at the beginning. 

The story itself is pretty straightforward, as are the religious aspects to it, and if James was a straightforward man, Robbie would’ve been happy with the straightforward explanation his own brain can come up with. But James is anything but straightforward and if the past few years have taught him anything about James and his relationship with Christianity in general and Catholicism in particular, it’s that it can’t be the simplest explanation. 

If he wants to know, he’s going to have to ask. One day. Maybe.


	6. Treat?

It’s the bank holiday weekend and Robbie is alone in his flat, feeling a bit at loose ends. He calls Lyn and that settles him for a while, but not for long. He’s looking forward to spending the weekend with Laura, but he can’t help the vague worry that she’ll expect more from him than just friendly companionship. He likes Laura, he really does, but she doesn’t… light the same kind of spark inside him that Val once lit, that James lights now. 

God help him, he’s doomed. 

\----

When James shows up at the college, he knows instantly that something is wrong and it’s not just a ruined weekend. His shirt and tie are slightly out of place and the mask of Detective Sergeant sits badly on him this evening. 

When it turns out to be a nicked guitar, he’s relieved. This is something he might be able to fix. Over the course of the case, James’ professional mask remains slightly skewed. They snark at each other more than usual and Robbie enjoys it more than he should. He likes this angry, reckless side of James, because his anger has nothing to do with their job and everything to do with what’s dear to him. It’s more than just a glimpse behind the mask. It even makes up for James trying to push him into Laura’s arms. 

Robbie liberates James’ guitar and gleefully pretends not to notice the happiness that settles into James’ posture as they drive back to Oxford. He then just as gleefully shows that he notices when Innocent is done giving them a lashing after closing the case. James hugs his guitar close.

It’s later in the evening, much later. Robbie has taken Laura home and by rights he should be heading to his own flat. His bed is calling. But somehow he ends up parked outside James’ place and before he can overthink it or change his mind he is out of his car and knocking on James’ door. The light’s on, so he’s still up and hopefully won’t mind spending a little more time with his old governor. 

James looks surprised for a moment when he opens the door, but it quickly morphs into a genuinely happy smile. He steps aside to let Robbie in. 

“Beer?” he asks and waves Robbie over to the sofa. 

His precious guitar is resting at one end. “You been playing?” Robbie asks when James returns with two bottles. 

James nods. 

“Play us something then,” Robbie says. 

James, for once, doesn’t argue or prevaricate. He just picks up his Gibson, sits down, settles the instrument on his knees and starts playing. 

Robbie listens. It’s lovely. He doesn’t know what it is, but it doesn’t matter. He lets the music wash over him and leans back into the sofa, rolling he head so he can watch James through half-lidded eyes. After a while James lifts his gaze off the guitar and looks at Robbie while he plays. 

There’s a part of Robbie that thinks that in this moment anything is possible. That maybe he could lean forward and kiss James and James would let him. Or that he could ask James anything and James would answer with nothing but the truth.

Then James stops playing and the possibilities hang in the air between them for a moment before dissipating into the night air. 

James puts the guitar away and stands. He holds a hand out to Robbie and says, “I think it’s time I took you home, sir.”

Robbie takes a deep breath and pushes himself firmly back into reality. It’s not the right time yet.


	7. You thought something wasn’t right

It’s Monday morning and they’re in the office, working through paperwork and have been for the past three hours. They’d had a rare weekend off and no new cases. Normally, on a day like this, James would immerse himself in the paperwork and not move apart from typing or clicking the mouse buttons. 

But today he’s been fidgety. Not the nicotine or caffeine withdrawal fidgety either. Robbie knows to recognise that. There’s something different that’s bothering James and as the hours wear on and James’ small movements don’t stop, Robbies’ urge to ask rises. 

Eventually, he can’t hold it in anymore. “What’s going on with you?”

James’ head snaps up. “Sorry, sir?”

“You’ve been fidgety ever since you walked in the door this morning. What’s going on?”

James pulls a face, gives a small shrug and mumbles something inaudible. His left hand slidges against his right upper arm in a not-quite scratch.

“Speak up, lad,” Robbie says, exasperated. 

“It’s nothing, sir. Just a new tattoo. It’s itchy.” James looks embarrassed.

Robbie raises his eyebrows. “A new one?”

James nods. 

Robbie debates himself for a few minutes. It’s none of his business. He really shouldn’t ask. If James wants to tell him he will. But maybe there’s a way to prod him into it? 

“Where is it?”

“Mmmhh?” James had turned his attention back to his monitor. 

“The new one?” Robbie says.

“Oh,” James points to his right bicep. “Upper arm. I got a half-sleeve done on Saturday.”

Robbie doesn’t know much about tattoos, but he can guess that a half-sleeve isn’t just a small thing. He’d love to see it. 

“Is it supposed to itch?”

James nods. “It’s healing. It’s nothing to worry about. Just uncomfortable. Mostly because I can’t really scratch it without destroying the work.”

Robbie gets that. He should stop asking questions and let them both get back to work. 

“Well, try to keep the fidgeting to a minimum, will you, Sergeant,” he says. 

“Of course, sir,” James grins and refocuses on his work. 

\-------

Tuesday evening finds them in Robbies flat with Indian take-away, a couple bottles of beer and some nature documentary on the telly. Robbie has changed into something comfortable, but James is still in his work shirt and trousers. 

They’ve been sitting quietly on the sofa and James seems absorbed in the programme until the moment he grunts in irritation and rubs his right upper arm. 

“Itchy?” Robbie asks. 

“Yes,” James responds with more force than necessary.

“Can’t you do something about it, put some cream on it or something?”

“I forgot it at home.”

Robbie thinks about what he has in the house that might help. “Does it need to be something special?”

“Yes and no. There’s special tattoo ointment, but right now some vaseline would do the trick?” James turns it into a question. 

“I think I still got a tub somewhere.” 

Robbie gets up to have a look in the bathroom and emerges triumphantly a few minutes later.

“My hero,” James deadpans at the sight of the proffered container. 

Once he holds it in his hands, though, he hesitates and falters to a stop. 

Robbie almost sighs. “You can go in the bathroom if you want your privacy. I promise I won’t play peepin’ tom.”

James grins and shakes his head. “It’s fine,” he says and starts to unbutton his shirt. 

Robbie suppresses a cheer, then scolds himself. God, this is wrong. He’s James’ boss, his friend. He shouldn’t be excited at the sight of a shirtless James Hathaway on his sofa. He shouldn’t want to see his new tattoo and maybe learn a little bit more about the real James that he’s been trying to unearth for years now. He shouldn’t be thinking about the one he’s already seen during the long, dark hours of a sleepless night. 

James removes his shirt, opens the vaseline and turns his right shoulder into the light. Robbie looks. 

The ‘sleeve’ is a stylised clef surrounded by other musical symbols overlayed over an outline of the world. It’s just as stylised as the saint-and-dragon on his back, but Robbie has spent enough of his life around Morse to recognise sheet music when he sees it. 

The tattoo is curling around James’ upper arm, moving every time he flexes his muscles and Robbie’s throat is suddenly really dry. He reaches down and plucks his beer bottle off the coffee table, takes a long swallow. 

James is applying the vaseline gently and sparingly over the healing skin. Before long, he’s done and looking up at Robbie. He smiles. 

“Thank you, sir, this is much better.”

“Not for that.” Robbie is glad his voice sounds normal. He nods his chin at James’ newest addition and manages to produce some sensible sentences. “It’s nice. World music. Fits you. I like it.”

James’s smile widens. 

Robbie sits back down on the sofa. James keeps his face turned towards him as Robbie moves around him. They’re too close, but they’re always too close. They’re looking at each other and it’s another one of those moments. Anything could happen. 

James licks his lips.

Robbie moves forward and closes the distance between them. He stops just short of bumping their noses together. 

“James,” he whispers.

James licks his lips again. 

Then he closes the last few inches between them and presses his lips against Robbies.


	8. You old softie

Robbie looks at James, his James, and can’t seem to stop himself now that he’s allowed to look. 

It’s still new, this permission, and it’s not just looking he is allowed to do now. He now knows what James’s skin feels like under his hands. He knows what he tastes like on his tongue. He knows the sounds James makes as he comes apart in Robbies bed. He also knows the real James, _his James_ , better than ever now, even if there are still some puzzle pieces left to put in place.

James is sprawled out on his back and fast asleep. Robbie only woke up himself a few minutes ago and he’s glad that he’s getting this time to just look at the man he loves. 

James snuffles in his sleep and rolls over onto his side, giving Robbie a good view of his back. Robbie smiles to himself and reaches out to trace a finger over the black lines of the dragon. 

The writing at the bottom of the tattoo is clearly visible now, James being naked and all. Grant that we may always be ready to give a reason for the hope that is in us. Robbie would bet his pension that it’s a quote.

“It’s okay to ask, Robbie,” James says quietly after a few minutes. His voice is sleep-rough.

Robbie pulls his hand back and James rolls over so he’s facing Robbie. 

“What’s it mean?” Robbie asks, glad that he’s been given permission for this too. 

James takes his time answering, gathering his thoughts. “It’s not really about religion so much, even though it is one of the central stories of Christianity. For me, the story is always more about courage in the face of adversity. Of standing up for what’s right and good and of hoping that things will turn out okay as long as we keep going. Of finding someone or something worth fighting for.”

His eyes are bright as he looks at Robbie. 

“I got it after the… the fire. It’s a reminder not to give up,” he says after a pause. 

Robbie just has to lean forward and kiss him. 

When he pulls back, Robbie can sense the embarrassment trying to take hold of James at revealing something so personal to someone. Robbie knows his James well enough now, to know just what to say to nip it in the bud. 

“And there I was thinking it was all about loving your country and saving damsels in distress.”

James snorts and just like that his equilibrium has been restored.


	9. Try and keep hold of who you are

‘Coming over soon?’ Robbie texts. 

They have couple of rare free days stretching out in front of them and even though they haven’t actually made plans to do something together, Robbie expects to see James sooner rather than later. He just wants to check whether he’ll go shopping by himself or take James along with him.

The answer comes quickly. ‘Got an appointment first. Go ahead. I’ll see you around lunchtime.’

Robbie frowns. James hadn’t mentioned an appointment before and Robbie is pretty sure he wasn’t feeling ill. Maybe it’s just a routine check-up. No good fretting, Robbie tells himself, James will tell him when he arrives. 

\------

Robbie is just finishing up putting some sandwiches together when James lets himself into the flat. Robbie can hear him toeing off his shoes. Shortly after, James wraps his long arms around Robbie’s middle from behind and presses a kiss behind his ear. 

“Hello, you.”

“Hiya, pet,” Robbie says and leans back against James. He’ll never get enough of this, of James close to him. Of kissing him, feeling him alive and well and happy, wrapped in his arms with nothing to hide. 

He turns around and presses a quick kiss against James’ lips. “You hungry?”

“Starving.”

The each take a plate and a glass of juice and settle down on the sofa. Robbie surreptitiously watches James for any signs of reasons for a secret appointment. James seems perfectly fine. So why isn’t he telling Robbie about it? 

He manages to hold out until he’s halfway through his sandwich before he has to ask, “Appointment go okay?”

James, of course, isn’t fooled by the casual tone Robbie has affected. His lips quirk and he raises his eyebrows at Robbie in a silent version of ‘ _I know exactly what you’re trying there_ ’. 

Robbie refuses to feel guilty. They’ve been together long enough for him to be entitled to know about most things that might be going on with James and James knows it. He’s just being his usual close-lipped self. Luckily, Robbie’s not so easily deterred by that these days. 

“Well?” 

“The appointment went well,” James says, then, “do you want to see?”

“See?” Robbie asks.

Instead of saying anything else, James puts down his food, then unbuttons his shirt a bit and moves it off his left shoulder. He reveals his collarbone, which is covered in cling film. James pulls the edges up and removes the cling film, then turns so Robbie can see properly. 

There’s a new tattoo there. 

Robbie looks at it. Then he looks up at James’ face. 

“You daft sod,” he whispers, awed.

James’ answering smile is a little bit smug and a lot happy. “You know what it means?”

Robbie looks back down and shakes his head in wonder. “‘Course I do. It’s the day I came back to Oxford. The day I met you.”

It’s a revelation, this tattoo, more than the others had been. Another secret that had been hidden under the suits, the secret that James loves him. Just as much as Robbie loves James. But the secret’s out now and Robbie hasn’t felt this alive in years. 

“It’s the day I started learning to be happy with who I am and it’s because of you.”

There’s a lump in Robbie’s throat, but it’s not a bad one. “Oh, James, my James,” he says and leans forward for a kiss.

“I’m for you,” James agrees happily and meets him halfway. 

 

The END


End file.
